


This is Hungry Work

by destielpasta



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Magic, BDSM, Bondage, Caning, Cunnilingus, Daddy Kink, Deepthroating, Dom/sub, Domme, Established Relationship, F/M, Face-Fucking, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Gentle Dom Eliot Waugh, Hand Jobs, Handcuffs, Humiliation, Impact Play, Light breathplay, M/M, Masochism, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Praise Kink, Professional Submissive, Quentin is extremely happy in his work, Rough Oral Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sub Quentin Coldwater, Verbal Humiliation, domme Alice Quinn, no infidelity, sex work to deal with depression and anxiety, sex worker Quentin Coldwater
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 09:26:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18808357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destielpasta/pseuds/destielpasta
Summary: Quentin gives, and receives the world in return.





	This is Hungry Work

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was born out of several conversations with a good friend about sub!Quentin. It will be a multi-chapter work, but is more of a series of short stories within themselves. Please make sure to read the tags and warnings before reading. Quentin is a sex worker in this fic but it's not a negative portrayal of it and he has full control over the situations he is in. As always, I will make sure Quentin Coldwater gets his happy ending.

Quentin knocked on the dark wooden door, the shining finish smooth against his knuckles. Four times, like always. He adjusted his messenger bag against his shoulder, glancing down the hallway. The subway had been running late, and he had been forced to weave his way through throngs of slow moving tourists to arrive in the vicinity of “on time.”

He looked at his watch. Three minutes late.

He crossed his arms. Waiting.

Slowly, the tell-tale tap of heels against hardwood sounded from behind the door. It opened slowly, revealing his favorite client.

Alice wasn’t a tall woman, but she was imposing. She looked down her nose at him, her mouth a firm and unsmiling line. She was all corners, from the point of her chin to the angles of her crisp blouse and pencil skirt down to the sharpness of her gaze. Unyielding.

“You’re late.” She said. Not a question. Fact.

Nerves, delicious and tense, shot down to his gut. Alice only needed to look at him.

He uncrossed his arms, splaying his hands out. “I’m here,” he said simply.

She pursed her lips, offering a pointed little “hm” before stepping aside to allow him entry. She eyed him as he toed off his shoes, lining them up meticulously against the wall next to his messenger back with the strap tucked inside, just like Alice liked. He knew what he looked like right now: flushed, stressed, strung out, but ready. So ready.

He straightened, clasping his arms behind his back. Waiting for instruction.

She cocked her head at him. “Meet me in the office. Everything off. Wait for me in the usual way.”

She left, disappearing down the hall and leaving him to get ready.

He took a breath, the routine already settling into his bones, relaxing him. Exhaling, he padded down the hall, his mind clearing more with every step.

One hour later, Quentin’s ass was beat red and bruised from Alice’s cane, face down on her black leather bench. Padded handcuffs circled his wrists, keeping his shoulders shrugged onto his back. The leather beneath his face was wet with tears.

She was quiet, kneading the flesh of his ass with a soft hand, drawing moans and hisses from him when she squeezed hard. It was the only touch of her hand he had been granted all night.

“What do you say to me now, Quentin?”

She said his name sharp, like glass.

He found his voice. “Thank you, mistress. I loved it, mistress, ah—“

He grinded his hips down into the bench, looking for some kind of sweet friction, something against his neglected cock—

With a crack, she slapped his ass once, hard. He cried out.

“Stop. I didn’t say you could yet. Not until I say.”

He nodded quickly, sorry, sorry—

She grabbed a handful of his hair, straddling his hips and pressing her sex against his ass, so hot, so good. She craned his neck back, and he gasped.

“Do you understand?”

Quentin nodded quickly.

“Say it.”

“I understand, mistress.”

She let him go, and he collapsed against the bench, panting, whimpering as she stood. Her heels clicked as she walked towards the desk.

“Come here,” she said. “On your knees.”

Quentin scrambled to comply, knowing that maybe, just maybe, she’ll reward him, she’ll let him touch her.

She sat up on the desk, slipping off her heels. They clattered to the floor and she crossed her bare ankles. He reached her, laying his head against her calf. Slowly, she reached a hand up to run her fingers through his loose hair.

He shivered. Finally.

“What do you say?” Alice asked, softer this time,  her hand firm on the back of his head.

Quentin swallowed, the sting from Alice’s earlier work heating him from the inside out. His ass hurt, sure, but the fog in his head had cleared, the nerves had dissipated, and he felt grounded.

“Please,” he said, pleading with his eyes and his voice and everything he had, and sometimes it was an act. With certain clients, he laid it on thick, looking for a certain reaction.

With Alice, he never had to pretend.

“Do better,” she said, voice even as steel.

He shuffled forward, looking up at her in supplication.

“Please, mistress, I’ve been so good, I want to put my mouth on you— I want to make you come, I’ll make it good, so good—“

“Quiet,” she snapped, and he closed his mouth immediately. He clung to her, laying his head in her lap. She lifted her leg, bracing her foot on his chest and pushing him back on his heels.

His heart sank. She wouldn’t— he’d been so _good_ —

She stood up, and his heart quickened as she took her skirt between her fingers, shimmying the smooth black fabric up her thighs until he could see her sex, glistening and wet and ready for him. His mouth watered and he whimpered low in his throat.

Slowly, she sat back on the desk, spreading her legs for his gaze.

“Well?” She said with the half-smile that could stop Quentin’s heart. “Get to work.”

He lunged forward, momentarily forgetting that his hands were bound and almost losing his balance, but no, he kept his composure as he dragged his knees forward and finally _finally_ got his mouth on her. She hummed as he licked at her folds, laying a soft hand at the back of his neck, letting him control the pace for a moment. He flattened his tongue, sending a wave of sensation through her that made her twitch against his mouth.

“That mouth,” she whispered. Suddenly, her hand tightened in his hair, and she drew him back sharply, sending pain through his scalp that shot right down to his neglected cock between his legs. He gasped, letting his eyes fall shut.

“Look at me.”

He did.

“Who do you belong to?” she asked, hooking a heel around his shoulder.

“I’m yours,” he said, his mouth wet with her, his heart beating hard. “I’m yours, mistress.”

She smiled. “I’m going to take your mouth. Are you ready?”

He groaned, nodding, waiting for to take him.

She didn’t make him wait long.

She threaded both her fingers in his hair and yanked him forward against her sex, angling his slack mouth exactly where she wanted it against her clit. He relaxed, going pliant, letting her move him and mold him with pressure at the back of his neck and her heel digging into his back.

Soon, she became impatient with the speed of his tongue.

“Keep your mouth open,” she said, finally losing the composure she had had all night, and Quentin felt victorious as she pressed her wet cunt onto his face, rolling her hips against him and _taking_. The desk rocked and jerked against the ground and Quentin’s knees ached, but he could take it, he had been so good and this was his reward—

Alice’s moans turned guttural, and she thrust herself against his face, fucking his mouth and then holding him in place, cutting off his air. His head spun, grounded and floating all at once.

“Suck, slut,” she said, scraping her nails against his scalp. “Make me come.”

Quentin took one gasp of air and then did as he was told, sucking and laving over her clit with his tongue and she rewarded him by slinging her other leg over his shoulder, and squeezing his head just so—

He shuddered, pleasure rolling through him and when she came, she rolled her hips against his mouth and held him in place with an iron grip, her moans low and feral.

Slowly, she took his face between her hands, pulling him up and stooping down to kiss him on his open mouth, kissing the taste of her from him. He let his eyes fall shut.

She pulled back with a hum, pushing him back on his knees. “Good,” she said, smiling open-mouthed like a vixen.

Quentin glowed, beamed, he knew it—

“Except,” she continued, raising her eyebrows. She pointed down at the floor.

Quentin looked down, and then he saw the puddle of come on the floor, next to his softening cock.

“I’m—”

She put a finger to his lips, silencing him.

“And to think, I was going to let you fuck me.” She shrugged, hopping down from the desk lightly. “Oh well, I’ll have to think of something good for your punishment. Next time.”

Quentin smiled, sighing as she undid his cuffs. She ran her hands down his arms, working the stiffness out. Alice’s aftercare was just as intense as her scenes, but opposite in that she stayed close, always touching him and reassuring him.

“Up,” she said, helping him to his feet and taking his hand. “Into the shower with you.”

Blissful, he followed.

*

*

*

*

*

A few days later, Quentin found himself in a similar, and similarly pleasant, situation.

Eliot had the softest hands, and used them well, especially when he moved Quentin exactly were he wanted him. He was different from Alice, with a softer style and touch that was no less demanding. He worked for Alice’s praise, but Eliot gave it freely, overwhelming him.

Not better, just different, and Quentin was nothing if not flexible.

Quentin was flat on his back, his head hanging over the foot of the bed. His blush stretched all the way down to his chest, and his mouth was stuffed full of Eliot’s cock.

Eliot didn’t do this a lot, but what a treat it was when he did. 

Quentin loved it this way, loved how surrounded he felt. Eliot’s scent was sharp in his nose. His cock was heavy on his tongue and slid easily over it into his throat. Eliot went deeper, and Quentin arched off the bed, inhaling harshly through his nose until Eliot’s hand pushed down on his chest, grounding him so that he could relax.

Eliot hummed in approval.

“Open up for me, baby, that’s it.”

He did, relaxing and letting Eliot in. Eliot’s hand slid up from his chest to settle against his throat. Just a slight pressure, enough to feel his own cock slide in and out of Quentin’s throat.

Eliot was a tactile person. He needed to touch to know it was real. Quentin provided the opportunity happily.

“Fuck,” Eliot breathed. “Can you take it all? Can you be good for me?”

Quentin’s eyes fluttered closed, gagging as Eliot’s cock hit the roof of his mouth when he tried to nod.

Eliot’s other hand came to rest under his chin, tipping his face farther back, easing up the pressure slightly. He slid all the way home, resting in Quentin’s throat for one, two, three seconds. Quentin kept still, swallowing around the hard length. His feet twitched, his toes curled, Eliot’s scent surrounded him, his hands were like fire on him—

“Shhh,” Eliot said, pulling out for a moment. Quentin gasped for air, panting. He kept his mouth open.

“I want it,” he said, voice wrecked. “Please daddy, please— I can take it all, please—“

Eliot hushed him again, smoothing his hair back from his forehead. “I know, sweetheart, I know. You’ll get it. Just be good for me. Can you be good for me?”

Quentin shivered, fingers clutching at the sheets. He could do that. He could be good.

Eliot slid his cock along Quentin’s swollen lips. Lazy, just keeping him primed and ready while giving him a break. Quentin poked his tongue out, chasing a lick.

Eliot laughed. “Someone’s ready.”

Quentin nodded. He was. He needed it.

“If you’re sure…” and then he took hold of Quentin’s chin, holding him open as he slid back inside, thrusting shallowly a few times, making him taste it, before going deep.

Quentin choked, squeezing a few tears from his eyes as he reveled in it. He was full, he was complete, he was grounded—

“You know I love it when you cry for me, baby,” Eliot said. Quentin felt a thumb swipe through his tears and he knew Eliot was tasting them.

Eliot set a steady pace. Never fast, never rough, just steady and consistent and overwhelming. His balls slapped lightly against his face and he kept _talking_ . He said Quentin was _beautiful,_ Quentin was _so good_ , Quentin took everything he gave him and always surprised him when he took more. His praise was like a second touch, wrapping its way around him and holding him tight as Eliot’s hands circled his face. He used him, held him still where he wanted him, but Quentin only felt aching tenderness.

Quentin knew Eliot was close when his hand settled back on his throat and he buried himself deep.

“Swallow,” he commanded, gripping only slightly at Quentin’s neck, massaging, encouraging—

And then Eliot was coming, shooting down Quentin’s throat and he did as he was told and swallowed it all– he was so good at this, he could take it all and not spill a drop. Eliot made him take it all anyways, he never gave Quentin anything he couldn’t handle.

He pulled out, and Quentin went boneless against the bed, not realizing the strength he had been using to keep his head up. Eliot barely took a moment to catch his breath before he was on the bed, crawling over Quentin and pulling him up so that he could rest his neck.  

“Baby, baby,” Eliot cooed, covering him, stroking a thumb along his swollen lips. “You were so good for me. Can I kiss you now?”

Quentin panted, and nodded. How could he not? How could he not take anything Eliot offered him?  

Eliot kissed him deep, his tongue licking and fucking deep into his mouth. Quentin groaned,  opening for him, and lifted his hands to stroke Eliot’s curls. His mouth was raw and sore, but Eliot didn’t need Quentin’s participation. Not now.

Eliot kept kissing him as he took hold of Quentin’s swollen cock, stroking him fast. He pressed him into his back, swallowing every whimper, every moan. Quentin’s orgasm had been building every moment Eliot had been in his mouth, he didn’t need long, but part of him wanted to savor this. Eliot’s hand on him, his tongue in his mouth, the taste of him mingling with his own—

It didn’t matter what he wanted in the end, because Eliot never made him choose.

He finally broke away, whispering into Quentin’s ear. “Come for me, baby boy, I want to feel you come.”

Quentin did, the pressure releasing suddenly as he spilled into Eliot’s hand. He sobbed, a fresh batch of tears running down his face.

“Good, so good,” Eliot said, smiling. He lifts his hand to Quentin’s mouth, covered in white strips of come. “Will you clean me up?”

Quentin did, his tongue like lead as he licked between Eliot’s fingers. He took his thumb into his mouth, sucking weakly until the taste of himself was gone.

“Holy shit,” Eliot breathed. “You’re so sexy, baby.”

Quentin let his thumb slip from his mouth with a _pop._

“I’m yours,” he said sleepily, letting his hands fall beside his head, eyes fluttering shut.

Eliot kissed him on the forehead, and Quentin felt a dip in the bed as he climbed off of him.

“I’m going to go put the hot water on. Do you want chamomile?”

Quentin nodded. “Come back quick.”

He felt warm, Eliot was close to him again, his hand cradling his face. “You won’t even know I’m gone, my love.”

Quentin turned, kissing his hand and then promptly falling asleep, the exhaustion settling over him like a heavy blanket.

When he woke, he found he had been arranged under the covers, his skin clean. The sweat and traces of come had been wiped from his face and Eliot’s arms were strong around him. Eliot was completely naked now, kissing the back of his neck. Quentin hummed in contentment.

“You’re up?” Eliot asked, lifting his head and peering over Quentin’s shoulder. “I came back and you were totally out.”

“Yeah.” Quentin yawned, not able to think of anything more elegant to say. His brain felt like mush, completely relaxed. Unburdened.

Eliot dropped a kiss onto his shoulder. “Your tea is on the night table. How’s your throat?”

Quentin turned, burrowing his face against Eliot’s chest, breathing him in.

“Sore,” he said, smiling against his skin. “Good sore.”

Eliot laughed, and Quentin heard the relief in the sound. Even after all this time, sometimes Eliot worried. Quentin found that exceedingly charming.

Eliot circled his arms around him again, pulling him close. “I can’t believe how–  that was amazing, Q. You’re amazing. Have I told you that lately?”

Quentin lifted his head to look at him. Eliot’s curls fell over his forehead and from outside, the moonlight cast him in a white glow. His heart felt full, almost too much. Then again, that’s how it always was with Eliot.

“Once or twice.” He tilted his head back, asking for a kiss. Eliot did, slow and almost chaste after the round they had had. Like he couldn’t help being gentle with him now. He took Quentin’s hand, lifting it to his mouth to kiss him where the plain gold band rested at the base of his ring finger.

“I guess that’s why I married you,” Eliot whispered.

Quentin smiled, snuggling in closer.

“I guess so.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked what you read, please write me a comment! I will be post more chapters as soon as I can. 
> 
> If you want to scream about the Magicians with me, feeling free to message or follow me on tumblr as queliotpasta.tumblr.com.


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